


What's Love Got To Do With It?

by unofficialpoltergeist



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: AU, M/M, Oops., PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, i'll add more tags as i write more, really typical au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 20:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5430344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unofficialpoltergeist/pseuds/unofficialpoltergeist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Trip wants to do is sit through a dinner without having a boner. Is that so much to ask?</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's Love Got To Do With It?

**Author's Note:**

> this ship is my addiction I didn't feel right not having something on my account about it. keep your expectations low and you probably might still be disappointed :)

In the heart of the city, on the top story. Light flooded from a panel of windows, dancing across the dark living room furniture and clean kitchen in dusty beams. The sunshine seemed to directly avoid Virus, who was sitting on the couch, legs crossed and a book in his hands. His shape was coated in shadow despite the light that shone right next to him on the couch. His suit coat was draped lazily behind him, which was not a rare event. Virus found it uncomfortable with the coat, but never complained about buttoning his buttons to his throat or tying his tie just as high. It was almost as if he felt comforted having something tight against his neck. Hm.  
The serenity of this section of the flat was abruptly broken by Trip almost knocking down the front door, his arms completely filled with bags of groceries. It wasn't the weight that was getting to him, but he groaned dramatically and threw them on to the counter. His arms had deep indents from the handles.

"Why didn't you come help?" he complained, standing at the counter.  
"Didn't know," Virus replied shortly.  
"I texted you!"  
"Hm, did you?"  
"Don't play dumb; you're not even doing anything."  
"You left the front door open."  
With a mixture of a groan and a sigh not unlike that of an angsty teenager, Trip added, "Why don't you shut it your damn self!" as he was on his way to close the door. Virus found the question answered itself rather easily.  
"It's already four thirty," he commented without looking up from the book, "I think you should start making dinner soon."  
Trip scowled. "Maybe."

Fitting a bookmark between the pages, Virus shut the book with a sigh, "Sometimes, your age does show through."  
The age difference between them wasn't huge- Trip was nineteen while Virus was twenty four -but sometimes it certainly did feel like it was. Not to Trip, apparently, who sputtered, "What's that supposed to mean?"  
Without answering, Virus stepped around to the back of the couch and leaned against it, thin frame finally catching the light. His eyes shone with it, their suspicious glare settling onto the other. "Exactly what I said."  
"Are you calling me immature?"  
The younger stepped forward. It was as if he stepped into a bubble of Virus; his skin chilled, a shot of ice joining his rushing blood. His mind pleaded to step back, but he was much too reckless for anything like that.  
Perhaps to make him more uncomfortable, Virus stepped forward until they were chest-to-chest, nose-to-nose, identical eyes unrelentingly connected. A thin finger trailed up Trip's pale neck, tilting his chin up forcibly, as if this was an inspection and not a conversation. This proximity-- Virus, really-- did something to Trip, causing a quiver somewhere in him as blood began to run south; suddenly, the plaid trousers were just a little binding.  
"This," he said simply, eyes flickering down to the stiffness just barely noticeable in Trip's pants, "is immature."  
He turned, folded his suit coat over his arm, and started down the hall to his bedroom. "I want dinner ready by five, five thirty at the maximum," he called over his shoulder before the door clicked into place.

Once safely alone in the kitchen, Trip cursed. "Shit!" he grumbled at the whole situation. It was not comfortable to bustle around with a boner (he had tried previously), but he had less than an hour to cook dinner. That couldn't be wasted in a dark room with a hand thrust in his pants; it had to be spent cooking this damned dinner. He couldn't even cook well! Virus was the one who seemed to get everything perfect, but the prince was too lazy to cook his own food. Instead, he ate the half-burned half-raw shit Trip made. It didn't even make sense!  
Taking his anger out on a pot of glaze for the chicken, Trip sloshes it around everywhere but the pot. He burns his hand on it with a cry, dropping the spoon and cradling the singed skin on the back of his hand. The liquid sizzled for a second before it ran off in a drop.  
"Fuck," he moaned, second curse in less than half an hour. The skin was blistering red in contrast to the pure whiteness around it.

"Run it under cold water," came Virus's even voice. He was standing against the wall, having slithered in silently. The initial sound of his voice made Trip jump, but he obeyed before he could even consider obeying. He crossed the kitchen and turned on the faucet, twisting the handle and immediately dipping his hand beneath the cool, running water. It brought back the feeling of the initial burn, causing him to squeak and automatically withdraw his hand.  
Swiftly, Virus was close behind him, his arms tucked beneath Trip's own. He gripped the burned hand and held it under the water, despite the immediate struggle from the younger.  
"Stop moving," he demanded, thumbing water over the inflamed skin. "It's honestly not that bad."  
The burn wasn't why Trip was moving.  
It was more because Virus's body was pressing against Trip's, stirring up all the near forgotten arousal _all_ over again. That familiar tightening in his lower stomach actually took his mind off the persistent burn, but after the scene earlier that was not something he wanted as a distraction.  
"I don't need your help," Trip muttered. Virus flipped the sink off, but his body didn't move.  
"Does it make you uncomfortable that I'm this close?" he whispered, enjoying himself greatly. The younger felt the hands around his wrists tighten, but he stayed silent.  
Despite getting no reply, Virus leaned in to the crook of his neck, nipping along the shell of his ear before fitting his mouth around the earring hanging at the bottom.  
The heat flew through Trip immediately. A shudder rippled through his skin, causing it to rake up goosebumps, and his cock twitched it was so hard. After feeling the warmth of Virus's tongue against the lobe of his ear, the cold hands slipped down from Trip's wrist. In fact, the whole heat of Virus left him. The footsteps started out of the kitchen, but Trip remained facing the sink. He hid his hips against the counter.  
"Finish cooking, will you?" Virus added, turning to look at Trip. But that was all he said before he sat back down on the couch. Why he couldn't just go back in his room, Trip had no idea, but the scent of burning wafted in the air and it wasn't from himself.  
"Shit."  
Unless Virus would agree to order take out, Trip knew he was going to have to sit through dinner with a close to aching cock.  
Dinner. Virus. Aching cock. _A complete dinner. Sitting with Virus. With an aching cock._

Luckily, the glaze hadn't burnt terribly. It complemented the slightly burnt chicken well. He set the table, which was on the opposite side of the kitchen, with the two dishes of chicken. In front of one was a cup of tea, still trailing steam, and the other had a large cup of soda.

"Virus!" He yelled from the dining room. "Dinner!"  
Trip quickly took his seat to hopefully look casual, and as Virus walked in he couldn't help but cross his legs beneath the table. Way to play it cool, boy.  
Virus looked over the spread, cold blue eyes narrowed, and took his seat in front of the tea. He made a _hm_ in his throat but didn't say anything specific. Instead, he picked up the fork.

The dinner was quiet. Neither had much to say, as they didn't have an ongoing task. The tenseness was one-sided as the younger ignored making eye contact or anything similar to that, which included accidentally taking a drink at the same time as him. It wasn't as much nervousness as it was uncomfortable-ness, and a whole lot of time spent fidgeting. Occasionally, when he switched legs, the trousers would rub _right_ against him, causing him to nearly drop his fork more than once.  
But eventually, the dinner ended.

"I'll take the dishes," Virus offered, picking up the plates from the table. After the older had left, Trip leapt from his seat as soon as he could. He passed through the kitchen in a few strides, ignoring Virus at the sink.  
"Why are you in such a rush?" he asked, as if he didn't know the answer already. Either way, Trip didn't listen. He dodged past the living room and into his own bedroom, shutting the door, but trying not to slam it. Can't be suspicious.  
Once safe, he leaned against the door with a sigh of relief. He was finally out of that cold, microscopic stare and into his room, which set drywall between them.  
Trip left the door and sat on the bed, unbuttoning the trousers as fast as he could without his fingers slipping on the zippers. He kicked them off completely and left them on the floor without a care.  
It didn't feel like a choice to reach down and squeeze his cock, and once he did he felt even further relieved, enough to let out a long held-in moan. " _Christ,_ " he muttered, legs thrashing. Even through boxers, the pleasure felt good as hell, all of his nerves ecstatic.  
His mind began to wander and quickly found Virus. Virus and his agile hands, hands that could do so much, the soft skin hidden beneath stiff business clothing, and most importantly his lips, thin and pink - so natural, would look so good swollen... The train of thought began to turn to dirtier things. Virus with cut lips, his neck covered with bruises and hickeys, even dripping blood in some areas. Virus beneath him panting, sweaty, crying out, pleading. Virus.  
He snapped the elastic waistband out of the way and wrapped a hand around himself as fast as he could, the thoughts of his flatmate fueling the energy and the groans. When he started stroking, his hips responded immediately and bucked up into his hand, sounds only getting louder but he was too reckless to even care.  
It barely took long for him to finish; a few more thrusts into his palm, a minute of him arched over the bed, whimpering and imagination running wild, and Trip had released into his palm, legs trembling and heart pounding. He had finished harder than he had in a long time. Maybe it was because of the wait, or maybe it was because of something else.  
Something more Virus related.

Once relieved, at long last, Trip washed his hands to mask the scent of sex on him and pulled on gray sweatpants instead. His button down, partially unbuttoned at the bottom and top but still hanging on. Not for long, that and his vest joined the pile of suit clothing on the floor to be washed later, instead slipping into a t-shirt. Comfort is king, no?  
He wished he had thought of something clever like turning the shower on or even the radio, but too little too late now. Besides, it wasn't like he hadn't jerked off before. Nothing unusual, right?  
Definitely not.

"Virus? Do we have food for tomorrow?" he asked, opening his door to lean out of it.  
"You're the one who was cooking," came Virus's reply. He was in the same exact spot as earlier that day, on the couch with an open novel in his lap. His gaze didn't even shift at the voice. "Go check."  
He left his door open and crossed to the kitchen. It looked like they were pretty well stocked, meaning no solo runs to the store again this week. Also means that Trip found a nice snack in the cabinets. He claimed it and sat down on the couch, happily snacking.  
Turning the T.V. on, Trip hoped Virus was too distracted to spoil the endings to Law and Order. "Lucky guesses" his ass.  
With officers blabbering on screen the next hour and a bag of sweets in his lap, Trip's day had gone from uncomfortable and just strange to this miracle. Life could be sweet, he figured.

Barely ten minutes into the next episode, Virus's book shut. He rested it on the table, briefly looking up at the screen. "The wife killed him," he commented, uncrossing his legs to stand up.  
Life could also be a prick.  
"She's sobbing in the interrogation room," Trip argued. The accused wife had makeup down to her cheekbones, looking rather distraught. And rather innocent.  
"Good night," Virus added. Standing up, he walked back to his room on the opposite side, but stayed on the threshold of it for a second. "Oh, and next time you feel like moaning my name, maybe it should happen face to face."  
The door swung shut.  
Life is _definitely_ a prick.


End file.
